~Chapter Two~

Boromir tightened his embrace of Katerina as she slept peacefully his arms, his body curled around hers. Such a gift she was. He'd never expected to find love, and especially not a love of this magnitude. She was everything to him. While he served Minas Tirith and it's people, his devotion to them complete, she was the reason he fought so hard to win and survive. To the make the world a better place for them all, but especially for her.

She wasn't an everyday sort of woman. She didn't hide who she was or make any excuses. She was a sensual creature through and through and while she made no effort to hide that fact, she didn't flaunt it either. She had never asked anything of him but honesty and affection.

It had taken him seeing her just once for desire to shoot straight through him, one angry conversation with her to know that one or another he would have her. And one solitary kiss to know he'd never get enough of her.

......It was the day he returned home, after his victory against wild men a couple days ride south of Minas Tirith. On the return journey, they also encountered several small parties of orcs, dispatching the foul malicious creatures with righteous fervor. He would not allow them any nearer to the White City

Clearly outnumbering the enemy, they had slaughtered the orcs easily. He had sent riders ahead to his father with messages of their clear victory and imminent return.

He and the men had camped the previous evening along the river, less than two hours from the city, all of them cleaning themselves up before their victorious return. They departed the next morning after a quick breakfast and rode for about an hour as his anticipation grew as they crossed the river and upon cresting the next large rise he saw it. The White Tower of Echthelion, glimmering like a spike of pearl and silver, the white banners visible even from this distance.

Home, he thought proudly. As they drew nearer, maybe halfway across Pellenor, they were spotted by the Tower Guard, and the silver trumpets sounded their return.

After they reentered the city to a resounding welcome, they still had to make their way all the way to the uppermost level of the city. Astride their horses, Boromir and his men towered above the morning crowd in the market square.

Yes he was home, surrounded by the people he and men had sworn to protect. The familiar sights, sounds, and smells of Minas Tirith.

Fruit vendors, butchers selling meat and fish, the smells of freshly baking bread. Vendors selling colorful fabrics, tools, weapons, jewelry, exotic perfumes and almost anything else money could buy. The laughter of children, the barking of dogs; loud voices as buyers and sellers haggled over prices, trying to make the best bargains.

Just up the street, a flash of red caught and held his attention. A young woman was coming out of one of the shops. She wore a red shawl about her narrow shoulders. He'd not seen her before, she was lovely, and he was intrigued. She was petite, her dark hair fell down her back, and she had curves in all the right places. Heat shot straight through him as he imagined what lay beneath her dress.

His attention was drawn away for single moment by a question from one of his men, and when he looked back she had disappeared into the crowd. Damn. There was no time look for her now. His father was expecting him.

The "welcome home" celebration was this afternoon, and Boromir really wished his father would stop doing this every time he won a battle. He really didn't like all the attention, for his father always made him out to be a single-handed victor, when it was really all the hard-fighting men under his command where the ones who deserved the accolades and glory. Good men, brave men who defended the city with their heartfelt patriotism, and shed their life's blood willingly, to keep the people of Minas Tirith and Gondor safe.

But even more than that, these celebrations were costly, and all the frivolous expenses could be put to much better uses. Like putting more strength into the outer defenses, fortifying the stronghold is Osgiliath. The imposing threat from Mordor loomed larger with each passing day. But his father would not listen to him on this matter anymore than he did Boromir's pleas that Denethor treat Faramir better.

It infuriated him at how his father constantly berated and belittled his younger brother's worth. He loved his brother dearly, and Faramir returned his affections. They would eventually be forced to unite against their father for the good of the city.

However, on this particular day he would be grateful for his father's extravagance. The main hall was crowded usual for one of these occasions and the gathering was even spilling out into the upper courtyard. He was deep in conversation with his brother when he once again he caught a flash of familiar red. He turned, surprised to see her again, some distance away conversing with a couple of rangers. He fought the sudden rush of jealousy, utterly baffled by the sense of possession he found himself feeling for a woman he'd not even been introduced to yet.

"That young woman, Faramir, who is she?" he nodded in the dark haired woman's direction.

Faramir turned his gaze to see who Boromir was asking after. "Ah yes," he smiled, no wonder his brother was intrigued. He'd not seen her but a time or two since he'd rescued her years ago, but she was certainly lovely. It was little wonder she'd drawn Boromir's attention. "I do believe that is Katerina, the daughter of the merchant that father gave a title to, Lord Gustov as he is now known. The men beside her are her brothers, Aidyn and Willem. They both serve under my command."

Boromir stared unabashedly, his gaze never leaving her, demanding his brother in no uncertain terms.

"Faramir, I would have an introduction."